


I Feel Free When I'm With You

by WordsAreMusicForTheEyes



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Author watches too many prison series and enjoys Marvel movies...deadly combination..., Bucky kind of went through all the HYDRA crap, F/M, Gangs, I say 'sassy' too much..., M/M, Past Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prison AU, Prison Sex, STUCKY FEELS!, Sexual Content, Slurs, Some Humour...of the sassy kind..., Stucky - Freeform, Tony Stark is one sassy Vice Warden, Troubled pasts, Violence, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3187304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAreMusicForTheEyes/pseuds/WordsAreMusicForTheEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve Rogers finds himself imprisoned at Shield Penitentiary, he fears the absolute worst.</p>
<p>What he never expects is to catch the eye of the handsome Bucky Barnes, befriend some intriguing people who make valuable allies, or get caught in the middle of a bitter rivalry that will pit his new best friend against a dark, haunting past...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sentencing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellllooooo! Yes...I'm starting yet ANOTHER fiction....as I'm not already juggling enough.
> 
> I just had a surge of inspiration and couldn't resist writing this! It's probably reeeaaally weird, but...ah well!
> 
> Before you read this, please don't be annoyed with me if I get some aspects (or a lot) of the penal system completely incorrect. My knowledge of prisons basically comes from Oz, Prison Break and Orange Is The New Black XD hehe!
> 
> Enjoy (I hope!) :D

"...Steven Grant Rogers, based on the nature of your crime and the indubitable evidence against you, I hereby sentence you to four years of incarceration-with the possibility of parole in two years. You will serve your sentence at the Shield Maximum Security State Penitentiary." Judge Lowell announced sternly, bringing down her gavel with unwavering force.

Steve swivelled around to stare, wide-eyed, at his perspiring lawyer, who had shrunk in his seat. The hustle and bustle of people exiting the court, following the ending of the trial, seemed to be nothing but a distant buzz to the frail, young man comprehending the consequences of his actions. Steve hung his head in shame, feeling like a mere boy in his uncomfortable man's suit, regretting his mistake sorely.

His intentions were good, as some of his sympathisers argued. Judge Lowell, herself, conceded to this, acknowledging that Steve had perpetrated the theft to provide for his ailing mother, to cover the exorbitant cost of her health care, that he was unable to pay for on his measly salary. With his own plethora of medical problems, few employers were willing to take him on board. Desperate times called for desperate measures-but unfortunately, said desperate measures were in violation of the legal system.

Steve was being escorted from the courtroom by guards to be taken to the holding cells. Throughout the agonisingly long walk from the the building to the cells, Steve's eyes never left the linoleum flooring, the way his feet-in their polished shoes-seemed to move of their own accord. Voices were intangible noises surrounding him. _**Four years**_. Four years of a jail cell, of strict rules, aggression from other prisoners, of _**no freedom**_.

 _ **God help me**_ , Steve pleaded silently...

 

* * *

 

 

His stomach roiled and churned for the entire journey to Shield. Again, his thin wrists were locked together in handcuffs, so he would pose no threat to the guards on the bus. Bound or not, he couldn't even push one of those men, he suspected. At five foot four, weighing about as much as a leaf, Steve posed no threat to  _ **anyone**_. One of the guards had even joked in a disgustingly bawdy fashion-

"They sendin' a skinny, little kid like you to Shield? Shit, man, you better suck some big guy's dick in return for protection, otherwise you'll be takin' it in the ass from every scum-fuck in there!" The others cackled at his grotesque word of advice.

Needless to say, Steve did not find that 'joke' particularly amusing.

"You kinda look like a twink, all pretty and blond. Watch your back, boy, I might wanna tear that tiny ass up one day-" Another convict on the bus hissed threateningly at Steve.

"Grocott, shut the fuck up!" One of the guards barked.

"'Kay, sir. Just sayin' hello to my **_fellow prisoners_**!"

" _ **Shuddup**_!" The guard yelled fiercely. 'Grocott' leered at Steve, and slithered down into his seat, not peeling his eyes away from the blond. Steve stared back, more out of astonishment and disgust. Grocott pursed his lips and made an obscene 'kissing' gesture. Steve wrinkled his nose and turned away, sick to his stomach.

 _ **Please don't let him be my cellmate**_ , Steve prayed over and over.

 

The processing began. Steve gave his details and selected personal belongings to an officer, and was then ushered into a separated room to be stripped and searched for any contraband. He then had to change into a grey t-shirt, garish orange jumpsuit and plain, black tennis shoes.

After dressing and having his identification photo taken, he was handed a rather substantial pile consisting of bedding, a plastic cup, flip-flops, a toothbrush, and his beloved sketchbook and small selection of pencils.

He and the other new inmates were receiving a list of rules from a guard-an attractive but 'no-nonsense'-looking woman-

"....you will do as the officers say, you will not argue with them, you will not fight, you will not kill-you will be reprimanded if you break any of these rules, and given the necessary punishment-"

Steve clung to his belongings, trembling, his gut twisting unbearably. He started to dwell on the prospective horrors Shield held for him, but was promptly pulled from his rumination by the sweeping entrance of a handsome, dark-haired man, roughly middle-aged, carrying a clipboard.

"Thank you, Officer Hill, you can go. I'm here to steal your thunder." The man interrupted charmingly. Officer Hill's eyebrows arched up, and she gave a begrudging sigh-

"Whatever you say, Stark." Were her words, before striding away.

"Apparently my dashing looks and raffish personality still haven't won her over. What am I doing wrong, Wilson?" Stark said to the remaining guard, a tall, well-built black man. The guard merely chuckled and shook his head, settling to offer a sage response-

"Existing, is my guess."

"Well that explains everything!" Stark scoffed, earning further mirth from Officer Wilson. "Anyhow, inmates, you devious scoundrels, I'm Tony Stark-" He began his introduction, "-think of me as Vice Warden of Shield Penitentiary, second-in-command to the big guy in charge-Warden Nicholas Fury. I run a specific unit of the prison, known as the Initiative Centre-or IC if you feel like saving on syllables. I select particular prisoners I think would benefit from serving their time in the IC. Certain privellages are given to you that are not granted to those in Gen Pop, but you are held to significantly higher standards. Put simply, if you fuck up, you get punished more severely-" Stark addressed the inmates firmly, glancing momentarily at Steve.

"So, with that, the following people will be coming with me and Officer Wilson to the IC-" Stark held the clipboard before him and read from his list. "Anderson, Katherine. Allen, Peter. Davis, Franklin. Gutierrez, Miguel. **Rogers, Steven**. Finally, Rollins, Jack. The rest of you will be going to Gen Pop."

 

It took a few moments for Steve to realise that he'd been accepted into the IC. Following realisation, he speculated whether this was a blessing or a curse. Deciding on the former, not because he reached some logical conclusion after deliberation, but more because the notion didn't fill with quite as much dread as he'd been feeling before-he followed Stark and Officer Wilson, walking in an orderly line with the other chosen inmates.

Trudging through seemingly endless corridors, his cheap tennis shoes squeaking across the sludge-green lino floors, Steve peered around, drinking in his surroundings. He was aflutter, with a sense of anticipation, anxiety and-bizarrely-the tiniest slither of excitement. He put it down to the bewildering effects of the 'fight-or-flight' instinct his body was experiencing. Passing guards and prison staff barely looked at him, likely regarding him as just another workload for them.

Turning a corner, they finally arrived at a large gate, comprised of vertical bars, with officers on either side. It was the entrance to the IC.

From what Steve could see, the unit didn't possess a single, traditional jail cell-instead housing numerous small _**rooms**_ **,** with see-through doors and window panels, on two levels. On the ground floor, in the centre, were circular tables and chairs. Other than the intriguing rooms, the IC seemed as lacking in glamour as the rest of Shield.

"Carter, would you do the honours?" Stark asked a rather lightly-built female guard, whose golden blonde curls had been tied back into a tidy pony-tail.

"Sure thing." She replied, already pushing a key into the lock of the gate. "New intake?"

"You know it."

"Great." She remarked flatly.

"Y'know, some people might say you were being sarcastic, Officer." Stark teased her gently.

"Yep, and I'm one of them." Carter rallied, sliding open the the gate, allowing the entry of Stark, Wilson and the new inmates. As the prisoners trooped past, she took notice of Steve and stared at him in alarm. Feeling self-conscious, his eyes fell to the floor. He suspected she was staring at him because of his fragile build, probably making an estimate of how long he would last before being injured or violated. Steve didn't need those sort of thoughts plaguing him.

 

"Wilson, take Anderson, Allen and Davis to their assigned pods. I'll take the rest." Stark split the group in half, having to speak over a chorus of jeers, cat-calls and wolf-whistles from the already residing prisoners. Some were sat at the tables, some stood around, huddled together in group, others wandering around-devoid of all purpose.

"HEY, TWINK! COME OVER HERE! I'VE SOMETHING BIG AND HARD YOU MIGHT LIKE!" One bellowed rudely at Steve.

"C'MON, BABY! GIVE DADDY SOME SUGAR! I'LL POUND YOUR ASS NICE AND SLOW!" Another yelled.

"Try to ignore them. That's how they usually greet new people. Not exactly a refined bunch." Stark informed the small group sourly. Steve suspected he was addressing the whole group to spare him the shame of being the obvious target of the foul jeers. "Oh-kay, Rollins, I'm putting you with Rumlow-" He gestured towards a pod, opening the door. A muscled man with tufty, dark hair blue eyes and a sharp jaw, who was sat at the regulation desk in the pod, glanced up from his book. He responded to his new cellmate with a victorious smile.

"Rollins, good to see you, man!" He greeted the hard-faced inmate Steve had entered the IC with.

"We'll leave you two alone, then." Stark raised his eyebrows, shutting the pod door and guiding Steve and the remaining prisoner, Gutierrez, to their own pods. The two men followed the Vice Warden up a set of stairs to the second level.

"Rogers-" Stark strode forward, and pulled open a pod door, "-I'm putting **you** with Barnes. C'mon, Barnes, come greet your cellmate. You're the most charismatic bastard in this place." Stark said to the prisoner already in the pod. Steve waited with baited breath, expecting some hulking monstrosity of a man to greet him with a snarl and curled lip. He gripped his bedding with clammy hands, on the verge of throwing up.

But when Barnes appeared at the doorway, Steve couldn't have been more surprised by his new cellmate...

 

There stood, with his arms stretched up, hands gripping the doorframe, a tall, _ **shirtless**_ , muscular man, with tousled, shoulder-length chestnut hair, beautiful blue-grey eyes and a face that would probably make Aphrodite blush. He stood with such confidence, fully aware of his sexual appeal, his toned, defined torso on proud display. This self-assuredness combined with the sinewy body made Steve's boxer shorts tighten uncomfortably around his crotch. Barnes must have noticed Steve admiring him in awe, and began looking him up and down like he was a sight to savour.

"Hi there, _**Rogers**_. Name's James Barnes, friends call me Bucky." He said to Steve, in a husky, honey-smooth rasp.

"What would you like me to call you?" Steve asked timidly.

"You better call me Bucky." He flashed a cocky grin at the blond, his manner seductive.

"C'mon, Gutierrez. Try and get along, you two." Stark called back, rather reduntantly, seeing as Bucky looked more than happy to get along with Steve.

"So, Rogers. Gotta first name?" He asked flirtatiously, backing into the pod.

"Uh-Steve." He stammered, stepping into the pod tentatively.

"Steven Rogers? Steve... _ **Stevie**_. Mind if I call you _**Stevie**_?" Bucky inquired, pinning Steve with a come-hither gaze.

"We givin' each other pet-names now?" Steve felt a surge of confidence, challenging the taller, larger man. Worried he'd angered him, he braced himself for a growled curse or a violent response. Instead, Bucky _**laughed**_.

It was a sweet, enchanting melody.

"You sure are a feisty little punk, ain't ya?" Bucky slowly approached Steve, resting his arm on the top bunk bed positioned next to him. He was stood so close, Steve could see the perfect, defined landscape of his chest and stomach,and the V-line above the waist of his trousers. When he finally tore his eyes away from Bucky's body, face burning red with embarrassment, he saw a satisfied smile plastering the brunet's face.

"Like what ya see? 'Cos I sure do." He winked at Steve.

"You've already won me over-don't start drivin' me crazy, you big jerk." Steve said with a wry smile.

"Oh, punk, you and me-we're gonna be good friends..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh heh, I pretty much snaffled the 'Initiative Centre' and 'pods' thing from Oz and its Emerald City XD 
> 
> Hopefully this wasn't too weird (or crap) for you folks! ^.^


	2. Mi Casa Es Su Casa

As Steve settled in to his new 'home', Bucky observed him with unrepressed interest. He smoothed out his made bedding, and slid his shower flip-flops beneath the bottom bunk. When he turned around, he was met by the sight of Bucky holding his sketchbook reverently.

"Mind if I-?" He sought Steve's permission. The blond nodded meekly. Bucky pulled back the cover, over the spiral-binding to reveal the first magnificent pencil drawing. It showed, in breathtaking detail, the park near Steve's home. "Holy shit..." Was all Bucky was able to say.

"The proportions are a little off on a couple of the trees, and I feel like-like I didn't capture the background of the city in as great detail as I woulda liked, and-" Steve fretted, knotting his delicate fingers together, but Bucky swiftly halted him in his tracks-

"These are amazing, ya punk! Quit worryin'!"

"You...you really think so?" Steve asked, gushing.

"'Course I do. You've got ridiculous talent, buddy. Lemme guess, you were an art or design student?" Bucky flashed a dazzling smile at Steve.

"Naw, wish I had been. Didn't have enough money. I had to work at a crummy store most of the time, to pay for the apartment, the food and my mom's hospital bills." He explained plaintively.

"Shit. Life can fuck you over, huh? Well, hey, they might be runnin' an arts programme here-you should go for it. It'll keep your mind from rottin' in this shit-hole. I'd do it myself, but I'm as talented as a fuckin' chimpanzee on heroin." Bucky told him, without a trace of resentment, flipping through his incredible pencil, charcoal and pastel creations. Steve made a humming noise of acknowledgement, half-expecting Bucky to ask how he ended up incarcerated.

 

"Didn't ya...um...didn't ya wanna know why I'm here?" Steve inquired diminuitively. The brunet peered up from the pages, giving Steve a look of mild apathy.

"Naw. Well, I'm happy to listen if you really wanna tell me. But I'm not gonna ask. Never do. Your business, not mine." He said, simply.

"If I wanted to tell you...you wouldn't-"

"Judge you? Fuck no. Not unless ya did something seriously fucked up, in which case, I'd _**refrain**_ from makin' further conversation with you. But...I seriously doubt _**you've**_ done anything exceptionally bad. Maybe I'm wrong, though?" Bucky gently closed the sketchbook and returned it to its resting place on the desk.

"No! Nothing...um...too bad. I _**feel**_ dreadful for doing it, but...I had to. Or at least, I **thought** I had to-"

"Good intentions? Hmm, those fuck you up pretty bad too." Bucky snorted with a bitter note to his voice.

"I...um...kinda stole money from a shop. But I-I held a kn...."

"Held the shop-owner at knife point?" Bucky assisted, encouraging Steve to be open and honest.

"It was-it was all for my mom's medical stuff. I wouldn'ta used a single dollar of it for myself, I swear!"

"I've no doubt o' that, Steve. You're a noble little punk, huh?" Bucky chuckled, settling himself down in the chair accompanying the bland-looking desk, perching on it so his arms were folded across its back.. Steve sighed, offering a doleful smile as he sat down on the edge of his bunk.

 

"Noble? More like _**stupid**_. I honestly thought I'd steal money from a shop and get away wth it. How much of an idiot d'ya have to be to believe that?" He reflected after a momentary pause.

"Your heart was in the right place, Steve. Not like most o' the people in here..." Bucky consoled him.

"My heart bein' in the right place has got me here. Like you say, good intentions...screw you over. I feel so _**guilty**_...he's a sweet old guy, and I...I did that to him-" Steve dropped his face into his hands, in utter shame.

"Well, you're in the right place to do penance. For however long it is you've been given."

"Four years. Two if I'm good enough for parole." Steve answered, bringing his face from the cover of his warm palms. Bucky nodded approvingly.

"That's pretty good. Not long to wait if ya behave yourself."

"It's still two years, though. I don't know how I'm gonna manage."

"You'll be fine. I've done two years. It's not too bad."

"Oh. Um. Got much longer left?" Steve asked, wondering if he was stepping on forbidden territory.

"Quite a bit longer." Bucky raised his eyebrows, nodding distractedly, as if his mind was occupied.

"Can I ask how much longer?"

"Eighteen years."

 

Steve stared at the brunet in astonishment.

"Um...uh...."

"I fucked up big style, Steve." Bucky admitted, with a mirthless laugh.

"I'm...I'm sorry. It was inconsiderate of me to nose into your business-" Steve apologised, but Bucky cut him short-

"Don't. You've done nothin' wrong, punk. Ya only asked how long I had. It's _**my**_ fault it ain't a smaller number."

"Still. I'm sorry."

"Not somethin' **you** need to apologise for. Like I said, it's my fault. I did some crazy shit, Steve, some _**crazy**_ shit. Stuff I get nightmares about. Stuff that's stayed with me, and will probably stay with me forever." Bucky avoided Steve's eye for a moment, as if lost in dark thoughts.

"Am I....am I allowed to ask...?" Steve faltered, his voice trailing away before finishing his question.

"Sure you can. See, I'm gonna have to go way back. It's kind of a long story. But hey, we got time, right?"

"Yeah." Steve chuckled.

"Thing is, I was a dumb shit when I was younger. I dicked around in school, didn't wanna pay attention in class or study. I just wanted to party, fuck and not much else. Some people thought it was 'cause my pop died when I was a kid, that it 'traumatised' me. Well, fuck that, I mean-sure-it upset me, but my mom did her goddamn best to look after me and my brothers and sisters. She fuckin' showered with us love and affection. I was just too much of an ungrateful, angry shit to work towards a decent life. When I turned twenty, that's when shit hit the fan." Bucky shook his head sadly.

"I started _**usin'**_. A whole fuckin' cocktail of stuff. Acid, coke, smack, donkey dust, holy sage-a whole load of that shit. Fucked me up somethin' serious. Lost a _**lot**_ of money. Had to earn it back, to pay for more stuff and to pay off any dealers. There were some things I did, some things they got me to do....I'm not proud of 'em. They're still with me, Steve. Sad thing is, they weren't the worst. I made the big mistake of owing a hefty debt to this guy, Pierce, a fuckin' kingpin, ran this huge group called  _ **Hydra**_. They were involved in drug deals, racketeering, prostituion, trafficking, smuggling illegal goods and...providing a service for certain people...who needed someone taken out." He looked at Steve intensely.

"They'd get footsoldiers, guys like me who'd become dependent on 'em for the next 'fix', and owed 'em a debt. Send us out to do things, threatenin' us with the prospect o' goin' cold turkey-'cause that was such a big concern for us at the time-then threatenin' our families or own lives' if we didn't follow orders. I did as I was told. Honestly, I was so high most o' the time, I didn't really know what was goin' on. I do know...that I had to take out a few people. But one day, things got...a little messy. I got caught and charged with one count o' murder in the first degree. They didn't know about the others, and I've been happy to keep it that way. Anyways, at my trials, I figured-if I was going down, I was gonna take the bastards who fucked me over with me. They still ain't caught Pierce yet, but they caught that mother-fucker Rumlow. Kinda stupid of 'em putting us in the same unit. We've not exactly been seein' eye-to-eye."

 

"I think I've seen him. When they were assigning us to our pods. This guy, Rollins, was put with someone called Rumlow. He seemed pretty happy to-"

" _ **What**_ ?!" Bucky interrupted sharply. Steve wavered and relayed the information again.

"Um, I came in with a guy called Rollins. They put him in a pod with Rumlow-"

" _ **The fuck**_ ?!" Bucky leapt up and charged out of the pod. Like an anxious puppy, Steve scurried after the larger man.

"Bucky!"

" _ **ROLLINS**_ !" Bucky bellowed down to the ground floor, catching the attention of a sizeable group, lounging around a table. Amidst the scarred, cruel faces were those of the inmates-Rumlow and Rollins-both of whom Steve had seen. " _ **I'M GONNA FUCK YOU UP, YOU PIECE O' SHIT!**_ "

"Good luck with that, Barnes! It's gonna be damn tricky, seein' as you've pissed off so many guys-they want _**your**_ blood as much as you want ours!" The square-jawed Rumlow rallied.

"FUCK YOU, RUMLOW, **_FUCK YOU_** !" Bucky barked fiercely, ignoring the stares of other spectating inmates. Steve placed a fragile hand on Bucky's bare chest and spoke to him, soothingly-

"Hey, Bucky, cool off, buddy. Don't antagonise 'em, they'll just try and screw with you. Just take it easy."

"I've already fuckin' antagonised 'em, Stevie boy, because THEY'VE ALREADY BEEN FUCKING WITH ME!" Bucky's outburst was targeted at the two men, staring at him with utter loathing written on their faces. However, the brunet did seem placated by Steve's touch and began backing off, breathing heavily.

"Let's just go back to our pod, Buck." Steve suggested gently, absent-mindedly shortening his cellmate's name, accidentally assuming a sense of familiarity with a man he'd known for less than an hour. Bucky barely noticed, his mind clouded by a 'red mist' of rage. The only thing he was responding to was Steve's lulling voice.

"That's right, go back to your pod, Barnes. Get your new boyfriend to suck your dick, that'll help you calm down-" Rumlow taunted Bucky, triggering a short chorus of laughter from the group of vicious-looking men surrounding him. The next minute, Bucky was pelting down the metal staircase, yelling unintelligbly, raring for a fight with his rival. Rumlow appeared more than comfortable to partake in a confrontation, springing up and taking on a defensive stance. Almost the second the two men collided, Officer Wilson and Officer Carter rushed over to break the two apart. Wilson had to drag Bucky back, writhing and kicking and shouting a number of obscenities at the other man. Carter simply placed a hand on Rumlow's chest, pushing him back gently and reminding him quietly of the consequences of misbehaving. Wilson released Bucky, shoving him away and issued a stern warning.

 

"Calm down, Barnes, or your ass is goin' straight to solitary!"

"I'm calm!" Bucky snarled, the absolute antithesis of calm.

"You don't goddamn sound it!"

"S'okay, we got this. We'll get him to cool off." Said a male inmate, with sandy brown hair and a robust figure, appearing on the scene. A female inmate, with beautiful, fiery-red curls, soon appeared at his side.

"Whatever, Barton, just stop him from try'na start a fuckin' fight." Wilson replied tersely, steadily leaving the scene of the debacle. Carter soon returned to her original place. Steve tenatively made his way down the steps, several pairs of eyes watching him intently as went over to join Bucky and his two companions. Barton was attempting to pull Bucky from his state of fury. The red-haired woman observed them, arms folded neatly across her chest. She offered Steve a cursory glance, promptly returning her attention to the two men.

"Barnes, remember, you gotta just take breaths. Focus your mind on somethin' else. Y'know what happens when you lose your shit. You _**need**_ to distract yourself, buddy-" Barton said.

"I can't fuckin' distract myself when he's right fuckin' _**there**_!" Bucky fumed through gritted teeth.

"Buck?" Steve spoke so softly, so meekly, he was surprised Bucky even heard. The brunet's head swivelled around to the smaller blond, his face transitioning from a mask of hatred to something much more relaxed.

"Sorry you had to see that, Stevie boy." His voice was no longer a snarling growl, but more or less, back to its usual smooth, raspy self. Barton's expression was that of bafflement. Steve touched Bucky's arm, only then noticing a patch of scarred, pink flesh on the brunet's upper arm, just below his shoulder. The larger man's posture became less combative, and he afforded a small smile to his friends.

"Impressive. Neither of us have ever been able to calm Barnes down so quickly. You must have some sort of hidden talent." The woman remarked from behind Steve. He turned around and gave her a polite smile.

"Thank you, Miss..."

"Romanov. You can call me Natasha, though. And I'm sure _**Barton**_ wouldn't mind you calling him Clint." She introduced herself, nodding respectfully at Steve.

"I sure wouldn't. Jeez, good thing you turned up, little guy, or else Barnes-y here might have tried to bust my nuts for gettin' in his way." Clint said appreciatively.

"Hey, Barton, quit givin' my new buddy a bad impression of me. He might start thinkin' I'm the violent type." Bucky joked, with a charismatic grin.

"Christ in a pick-up truck, Barnes, you sure do keep us guessing. You're one of a kind!" Clint commented, almost exapseratedly, yet he was smiling all the same.

"Oh, Barton, you charmer. You're makin' me blush!" Bucky quipped.

"Hmm. Judging by the way **Steve** here managed to settle the ever choleric James Buchanan Barnes, I'd say, he too, is certainly one of a kind." Natasha noted, as if delivering a conclusion following a moment's cogitation.

"He sure is. He's one special little punk. I figure it's time we introduce him to the others..." Bucky proclaimed, smiling at Steve with a fondness that made the smaller man's heart flutter.

 


	3. Welcome To The Group, Buddy

Bucky wound his arm around Steve's shoulders and began walking, the smaller man having no choice but to keep pace. Steve was far from perturbed, enjoying Bucky's firm torso pressed close to his, his muscular arm enclosing him. It was probably a mere companionable gesture, but with Bucky's seductive nature, it was open to interpretation. To onlookers, the two of them likely appeared as a couple.

Steve felt a shiver of satisfaction at the thought.

Other male inmates offered Steve fleeting glances, but soon looked away. Having Bucky, Clint and Natasha surrounding him seemed to be acting as a deterrant for unwanted attention.

"Wow, before they were yellin' all kinds of stuff at me. Now they ain't even lookin' at me!"

"Well, you've got special company. The ex-Hydra goons might try and stir trouble for Bucky, but typically, everyone else keeps out of our way. We also have an arrangement with Thorley and Loker, so we're packing extra muscle there." Natasha explained, looking at Steve over her shoulder as she walked ahead.

"Great, I'm feelin' pretty lucky right now!" Steve declared jubilantly, earning the slightest flicker of a smile from the cool, confident red-head.

"That, and they likely believe you've been 'claimed'." She added, with a tiny smirk. Clint quickly looked at her, his mouth twisting into a bemused smile.

"Claimed?" Steve asked, perplexed, his brows knitting together in confusion. Natasha threw Bucky a sly look, before replying enigmatically-

"Oh. It's nothing." She turned her head, facing forward once more.

" _ **Claimed**_?" Steve peered up at Bucky, who looked gloriously attractive, with locks of chestnut hair falling forward to frame his strong jawline, his blue irises capturing the, usually unflattering, artificial lighting and transforming into mesmerising pools. Bucky simply smiled and responded silkily-

"Make of it what you want to, Stevie." The curiously doting look in Bucky's eyes revealed the deeper meaning behind Natasha's words.

With the ivory complexion granted to him by his Irish heritage, there was no possibility of the red hue Steve's cheeks took on going unnoticed.

 

"Hey, Dum Dum! How's it goin' ?" Bucky hollered at a rather stocky, middle-aged man, with an impressive walrus moustache and pale Nordic blue eyes, who was stood in the doorway of another pod.

"Barnes, good to see ya. I'm doin' okay, we all are. Just passin' time. Not like there's much else to do, right?" 'Dum Dum' said, nodding towards-Steve assumed-more of Bucky's companions. He saw a man appear next to Dum Dum, with skin the colour of coffee beans and an oddly serene expression on his face.

"Hey, Barnes! Natasha, lookin' _**damn fine**_ as ever-"

"Cool it, Jones." Clint teased, shaking his hand and thumping him companionably on the back.

"You sure know how to greet a woman, Gabe."

"I sure do, girl. C'mere-" Gabe chuckled, opening his arms out and giving Natasha an amicable embrace. "Plus, I know if I ever tried hittin' on you for real, you'd probably kill me before Barton would."

"I value friends who have such a deep understanding of the way my mind works." She replied, with a trace of self-aware humour.

"Well. I'm not sure I'd want too deep an understandin' of your mind, Natasha. No offence." Gabe smiled fondly at her.

"None taken." She smirked.

 

"Hey, hey, no 'moments' with my lady, Jones." Clint joked, holding onto Natasha's waist in a pantomime of possessiveness.

"Shush now, Clint. Don't feel left out." Natasha reached back to pat Clint reassuringly on the cheek. "Good boy." She added impishly.

"I went from 'lover' to 'dog' in less than thirty seconds..."

"Given my sexual proclivities, I think you'll find those two are synonymous in my book." She rallied. All of the men snorted with laughter.

"That explains the collar. And why you smack my ass if I misbehave." Clint pretended to experience a realisation.

"No to the latter. I just like smacking that ass of yours because it's fun to hear you squeal." Natasha delivered the retort with a perfectly dead-pan look, which Steve couldn't help but admire her for, given the mirthful guffaws breaking out around her. Steve himself laughed heartily. Two other men, known to the group judging by the friendly nods of acknowledgement from Dum Dum and Gabe, joined them, obviously curious about the sudden jubilance.

When the laughter faded out, Bucky greeted the two men in his gregarious fashion-

"Morita, Falsworth-c'mere! Share the love, guys!" He stretched his free arm out and, somehow, managed to rein them both into a friendly hug.

"Your vitality and enthusiasm is, as ever, uplifting, old chap." Said the taller of the two men, with a clipped, 'received pronunciation' English accent, clapping Bucky on the back.

"Uplifting for you, Falsworth, I've got another grown man's nipple in my face." Complained Morita, voice muffled by Bucky's flesh. Laughter filled the air again.

"Be one with the nipple, Jimmy-boy. It's gonna be the only one you'll have in ya face for a while." Bucky jested, looking down at the slightly shorter man.

"Ha-ha, asshole. Wear a goddamn shirt once in a while, you've already got two dozen dicks ready and waitin' for ya!" Morita struggled, trying to twist his head around. Steve watched Bucky's face hungrily, relishing the cocky grin that made his plush lips part.

"Yours one of 'em, Morita?" His almost flirtatious tone warmed Steve's face, and brought another blush to his cheeks. He prayed nobody would notice, but Gabe and Dum Dum had already caught sight of the dusty rose tinge to his complexion. Tactfully, neither chose to pass comment on it.

 

"If I say 'yes', will you let me go?" He attempted to compromise. Bucky threw back his head, and laughed delightedly. He released his firm hold of both Morita and Falsworth.

"Sure thing, buddy. Y'know I wouldn't mind samplin' somethin' from the Far East..." He remarked suggestively, triggering aneye-roll from the Japanese-American inmate.

"I'm from Fresno!" He whined.

"Settle down, chap, Barnes is just in the midst of another heated surge of rampant lust." Falsworth consoled Morita.

"Ooh, Falsworth, I love it when you talk like that. Y'know what that accent does to me! How about some 'toad-in-the-hole' later on, big boy?" Bucky joked. 

"Oh good Lord..." Falsworth smiled, shaking his head as if in exasperation. "Thank you for shattering the fond memories of my favourite childhood meal." He pointed out, causing further laughter to break out. Falsworth's head cocked to one side, taking the sight of Steve, quietly tucked beneath Bucky's arm.

"Good grief, how awfully remiss of me! You must be a new inmate-and clearly, a friend to Barnes-it's a pleasure to meet you! My name is Montgomery Falsworth." He held out his hand, welcoming Steve politely.

"Oh, um, hi there. Nice to meet ya, too. I'm Steve Rogers. I just arrived today." The blond introduced himself shyly, shaking the Englishman's hand gently.

"How'd a little guy like you end up here?" Dum Dum inquired. Steve felt the insecurities surrounding his body flood to the surface.

"I...um...screwed up."

"I hear ya, man." Gabe said, nodding sympathetically.

"Yeah, we all screwed up. I wasn't tryin' to offend you, Rogers, I asked Morita the exact same question when he came here-" Dum Dum quickly assured the delicately built young man.

"Fuck you, Dum Dum." Morita interjected crisply, causing Dum Dum to wheeze with blustering laughter.

 

"Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' a little guy. You're fun size, ain't ya?" Bucky wound his arm, lasciviously, around Steve's waist-unabashedly displaying his raging sexuality. Steve felt his face burn-and when a chorus of piercing wolf-whistles surrounded him-his entire body flushed.

"Good things come in small packages, I guess." Steve replied with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his head, praying there wouldn't be an embarrassing 'tenting' in the crotch of his jumpsuit.

"And don't you forget it, punk." Bucky squeezed him affectionately.

"Bucky, you've been hangin' onto Steve for nearly ten minutes. Let the poor guy go for a few minutes." Clint reprimanded his friend playfully.

"Depends. Would you like me to let go of you, Stevie?" Bucky inquired, in a soft, silken voice, tilting his head so his hair gleamed beautifully. The dilation of his pupils revealed his reciprocated attraction, filling Steve with a warmth and confidence he'd not felt in a long time.

"No, ya big jerk. I like havin' a handsome guy hangin' onto me." He rallied perfectly, slipping his own arm around Bucky's  toned waist. A jagged grin split Bucky's face. The group all smiled and nodded approvingly, and Clint let out a short whistle at the demonstration. The blond and brunet stared at one another ardently, the fierce fire of their mutual physical attraction burning hot in the bleak Initiative Centre. Steve had known this man for just an hour, and already he felt connected, bonded by a bursting love and a sexual desire that was sending currents from his core through to his eager loins.

"Steve, who knew you were such a player?" Natasha piped up from next to him.

"The sweet ones are always the filthiest. Good thing you're my cellmate, punk."

"Good thing I'm your cellmate..." Steve reiterated, daring enough to allow his hand to wander down and touch Bucky's firm buttocks.

"Whoa, save it for the privacy of our pod, Stevie boy. That way there'll be nobody to stop me doin' all kinds o' dirty things to ya-"

" _ **Ahem**_ ! We're still here, fellas!" Gabe reminded the two men.

"Well, maybe not the introduction you were hopin' for, Stevie-but welcome to the group. It'll be good to have ya with us, buddy."

 

The rag-tag group of inmates decided to settle themselves down at a table, furthest away from the Hydra bunch. Steve, predictably, was sat close to Bucky, practically nestled up to him. Clint and Natasha sat beside one another, hands clasped together. On occasion, Steve would spot Clint gazing at Natasha as though she were a gift sent straight from heaven, a breath of freedom within the suffocating walls of the prison. He hoped that, perhaps, he would catch Bucky doing the same one day.

"So, Natasha, if you don't mind me asking-I know this a prison for men and women, but they keep 'em separate-so, why are there women in this unit? Wouldn't that be kinda...I dunno...risky, with a lot o' these guys in here?" Steve questioned her, keeping his voice at a low volume so as not to draw attention from other inmates.

"Hm, you'd think so, but it's probably safer. A lot of these guys are grateful to be here, with all the privellages and passable facilities, so they don't lay a finger on the few female inmates in here-myself included. Well. Not that I'd let them lay a finger on me even if they tried." She said determinedly. "And I have to confess, the inmates in the female gen pop....are freaking crazy. I'm no sweet peach myself, I've done things-some might say-that are _**unforgiveable**_...but I behave myself in this place. Those women...they just _**don't care**_. Stark, more or less, put me in here for my own safety. I can take care of myself, but when you wake up in the middle of the night to find some psychopathic bitch holding part of a razor blade to your neck, ranting about how you looked oddly at her in the cafeteria, you quickly realise how out of your depth you truly are."

"Jesus..." Steve gasped. "That's awful."

"It's unfortunate, yes." Natasha remarked, almost stoically. "But it's in the past. I'm content here, as content as an inmate and convicted felon can be."

"True. I don't know how you can be so calm about it all." Steve said, astonished.

"I'm Russian. And I had a somewhat questionable upbringing. Fear is weakness, and weakness is the window of opportunity for any opponent."

"That's kinda cold..."

"It is. That's why I'm such a stable member of society." Natasha said ironically. "But you, on the other hand, how _**did**_   you end up here? You seem like the kind of person who feeds soup to their sick relatives and bakes cookies for grandmothers."

"Ah, um, well...I did do both of those things-"

"I knew it..." Bucky sniggered to himself.

"-but I just...lost my way a bit. My mom, she's been real sick. It got so bad, I had to take her to hospital. But, the thing is, I was working in some lousy grocery store-'cause not many people want to hire a skinny, asthmatic kid-earning barely enough to pay my mom's medical bills. So I thought...thought I'd steal money from some shop. I held the poor guy at knife point, but even he could tell my heart wasn't into it..." Steve explained dolefully.

"We've all made mistakes, Steve. Fortunately for you, nobody was hurt because of the error you made. You feel guilty for it, that's good. From the point of view of the correctional system, it means you won't repeat your crime. From a moral stance, it means you-fundementally-are an extremely good and kind human being." Natasha comforted him.

"Thank you." Steve felt his spirits lifted by her words.

 

"Hey, I don't feel guilty. You sayin' I'm not a good person, Nat?" Dum Dum asked.

"No comment." She said wryly.

"What did you do?" Steve inquired.

"Nothin' much, people made it into a big thing-" Dum Dum began, before being interrupted by Falsworth.

"You were under the influence of narcotics, assaulted your former employer with a certain object-generally used to aid a woman in achieving sexual pleasure-until his face was a bloody pulp, removed your clothing and decided it would be wise to enter the nearest town, and use said object to attack a police officer."

With Falsworth's clipped, clear accent, the whole description was made even more amusing.

"See? Nothin' much." Dum Dum persisted.

"Wait, hold up, you told me you used a baseball bat-not a goddamn vibrator!" Morita sounded positively incensed.

"It wasn't a vibrator..." Dum Dum muttered reluctantly.

"Then what was-oh _**Jesus**_!" Morita exclaimed, seemingly appalled.

"I'd like to know why you had a dildo in your possession, Dum Dum?" Clint questioned the older man.

"Ahhh, drugs can do strange things to your mind." Dum Dum said vaguely.

"I was high as a fuckin' kite for a good portion o' my early twenties...I never felt an overwhelmin' urge to buy a dildo." Bucky chirped.

"Shuddup, Barnes." Dum Dum grumbled.

"Seriously, though, considering all the stuff I took-I'm doin' okay. I'm not too fucked in the head, I've still got all my teeth-"

"And your looks." Natasha conceded. Bucky threw her a grateful smile.

"Thanks, sugar!"

"You somehow managed to avoid contractin' HIV, too." Gabe pointed out, amazed by Bucky's astounding luck.

"Shit, yeah. I really am a lucky bastard. Aside from the twenty year prison sentence, that is." Bucky blew air out of his mouth, making his lower lip rattle slightly-in a gesture of melancholic thoughtfulness.

 

"Don't lose your head, Bucky. If it's any consolation, you've got me for company for another fifteen years." Natasha patted him companionably on the arm. "And Clint's with us for another ten."

"Counts for somethin'. Thanks, Nat." Bucky squeezed her hand.

"I almost feel guilty for not being here longer to keep ya company." Steve admitted forlornly.

"Oh don't, Stevie. I ain't worth feelin' guilty over. I'm just havin' a pity party over here. Naw, you stay on the right track, get your parole and get the fuck out of this place in two years. You got a life ahead of ya-make use o' that artistic talent. You're one of the nicest guys I ever met. You shouldn't be wasted on a prison." Bucky insisted vehemently.

"Neither should you!" Steve said assertively. Bucky's soft, husky chuckle filled Steve's ears once more, his head shaking in affectionate disbelief.

"You're somethin' else, punk. Even after what I told ya about what I did-you still think I'm a good guy?"

"Yes! You've been kind to me, you're a good friend to these guys...you feel _**bad**_ for what happened. You're not living in a denial, blaming others. You've accepted what you've done. It's not fair of 'em to-to-" Steve flustered.

"To punish me? Sweet of ya to say, Stevie, but I did some serious shit. Acceptance is great...but it won't bring back those people. I appreciate what you're sayin' though. Means a lot to that you think so well o' me." Bucky's beautiful eyes glazed over with the same tender, doting look he'd given Steve earlier. Steve's mouth parted, in preparation to respond, but the words turned to a meaningless garble inside of his mind as soon as he looked at Bucky's face. He merely settled to smile sweetly at the bruent.

"Barnes, d'you plan on ever wearing your shirt?" Boomed a deep, resonating voice from behind Steve. He swivelled around to see a tall, powerfully built man, with shimmering blond hair tied back into a ponytail, and a neatly trimmed beard of a darker shade of blond. Beside him stood an equally tall, but much leaner man, pale as porcelain next to the peach glow of the blond man, and tidily kept ebony hair. His green eyes surveyed the area, before observing each member of Bucky's group closely.

"Until someone starts complainin'. Good to see ya, Thorley. You too, Loker." Bucky said with a raspy laugh, swinging around in his seat, holding out his hand. The blond seized hold of Bucky's arm, in an enthusiastic greeting 'shake', while Bucky clapped him on the bicep. Loker smiled a wintry smile, giving the impression of regality.

 

"I've been meaning to talk to you about some stuff. If you're busy, though..." Thorley began.

"Well, I'm always happy to make time for friendly associates."

"Good. Although..." Thorley shot Steve a wary look.

"Don't worry about Steve. He's cool."

"I'm sure he is, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna trust him straight away." Thorley frowned at Steve, a crease appearing between his brows-as if the blond had affronted him in some way.

"He ain't a rat, Thorley." Bucky said firmly. Although Steve was hardly planning to divulge any confidential information he heard, he was astonished by Bucky's unshakeable faith in him.

"Barnes. You wanna talk business or _**not**_?" Thorley's questioned the brunet tersely. Steve saw a flash of vexation pass over his cellmate's face.

"Alright. We'll go somewhere private. Fuckin' cloak-and-dagger shit you got goin' here, Thorley." Bucky grunted, swinging his long legs to the side and standing up lithely. Bidding his farewells, both he and Thorley walked away together.

"See you soon, Barnes." Clint gave him a two-finger mock salute. "Loker." He added with an edge of bitterness to his voice.

"Barton. Pleasure seeing you." The ebony-haired inmate said glacially, his crisp English accent tinged with suppressed contempt for the other man. He turned swiftly on his heel, walking with such a refined air-one could picture him in the garb of royalty.

"Well he doesn't strike me as the gregarious kind." Steve remarked, eyebrows raised.

"Ah, well, that's Loker for you. Sauve as fuck, but a complete cun-" Clint began.

"Ahem." Natasha cleared her throat deliberately.

"Sorry, a complete **_prick_**." Clint corrected himself.

"Thank you."

"S'okay, Tasha. Yeah, Loker is one icy mother fucker. Thorley's definitely more..."

"Likeable?" Gabe suggested.

"I was gonna say, tolerable, but I can go with either. If you couldn't already tell, Steve, me and Loker don't get on too well. Though we don't have that Barnes-Rumlow bloodthirsty rivalry thing going on, thank God. One thing's for sure, however, I would happily stick a shank in that bastard's eye socket."

"I'll be honest, it wasn't that difficult to tell." Steve told the tawny-haired man, with a small smile.

"Good. I like to be upfront with my burning hatred. I go out of my way to let people know if I despise every fibre of their being."

"The important thing is that you're honest, Clint." Steve chuckled, inciting a short laugh from his new companion. Natasha snorted from beside her lover.

"Rogers!" A woman's voice called out sternly. Steve spun round to see Officer Carter approaching him.

"Oh, um, ma'am?" He replied timidly.

"I need you to come with me. The doctor wants to see you."

 

...

 


End file.
